Solitude in Durzkaban
The smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive was heavy with a mixture of apprehension, tension, and the softest of magicks.
There wasn’t much… room, in the room, but still it stood near empty. A small mattress was shoved into the corner, ratty blanket tangled on top, bed empty even in the early hours of the morning. A small desk, scratched and stained, and a desk chair with missing wheels. A wardrobe, half empty just like the room itself, stood against the wall near the door.
A cage was set up against a window, its occupant wide awake and watching the room with wide amber eyes. The lock on the cage was shiny, new, unwanted.
A strange piece of paper was tacked to the back of the bedroom door, writing on it cramped and illegible in the relative shadow of the room.
In the middle of the floor, sitting with a book open in his lap, was a scrawny boy, dark skin glowing from the small jar seemingly containing a small flame at his side. He ran a hand through his mop of hair as he scribbled on a notebook on the floor beside him.
A small noise from down the hall made the boy’s gaze dart to the door, adorned with locks similar to his owl’s.
The sound settled back into silence, and Harry Potter sighed and turned back to his notes.
In a different world, one that was hidden behind a seedy pub and a layer of wards, he was someone else.
Someone better.
Hadrian James Potter, Heir Potter-Black.
Going into his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the first place he ever felt comfortable calling home.
A person of power, a name people knew and respected, even if they didn’t like him.
But in this house, he was a prisoner.
Alone.
Barely Harry.
Just a boy used as free labor.
A burden.
But he pushed past that, using the scarce mind-clearing exercises he had found his last few days at his school, and focused on the studying he was actually able to do, using the few books that weren’t locked away in the cupboard under the stairs.
His old bedroom.
“Okay, Hedwig. I think I figured it out. Give me a mo’ to mix everything, and then hopefully I can get you out of there.”
She let out a soft hoot.
Immediately, Harry froze. “Shh, girl, you have to stay quiet!”
Another hoot, louder.
Another creak.
Harry gestured wildly but silently to his owl before sweeping all of his things, jar of fire included, into the bag behind him, closing it, and shoving it into a floorboard he had pried open under his bed. The room faded into darkness as Harry covered the hole once more, rolling under the threadbare blanket on his bed and facing the wall.
A creak of a door down the hall.
Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm his rabbiting heart and gasping lungs.
Footsteps. Too heavy to be anyone other than Vernon.
One deep breath, then another.
Unlocking of his door.
Small movements at the sound, deep breathing, just like someone who was truly asleep.
A rush of frustrated air from the figure at the door, before it closed again.
Harry didn’t move.
Footsteps retreated, back to the main bedroom.
As soon as the door closed, Harry turned onto his back and groaned quietly. He sat up, glaring at his owl.
“This would be a lot easier if you would work with me here. We’re both locked up in this place. At least you’ve gotten plenty of food, I’m back to table scraps and whatever Petunia deigns to feed me. All of my food from school is in my trunk under the stairs, and there are too many locks for me to get in there.”
He sighed and scrubbed at his face. “I’ve gotten no letters, and I can’t figure out why. I only got to go to the library once to see Mrs. Groller. Not to mention, Vernon’s hung up each time Hermione or Justin have tried calling. I’m going to have to sneak a call when he’s at work and Petunia’s round the neighbors…” He trailed off, eyes scanning the night skies outside the window.
“Merlin help me if I don’t get out of here soon.”
Hedwig shifted, letting out the softest chirp.
“Yeah, girl. I know. If we don’t get out.”
Harry’s eyes shifted around the dark room, pulling his knees up to his chest. He couldn’t help but keep catching on the parchment he had tucked on the back of the door, where no one really ever looked.
“So much for my research this summer.”
He didn’t need to read the list to know what each said, having reread it so many times when hiding from the Dursleys the entire week.
Look into Sirius Black
Find a regent for both Potter and Black seats (separate or same one?)
Make a plan with Flick on Grey Faction
Hearth rituals from Flick and Marcus (untraceable!)
What did Hagrid do with Fluffy?
Magical creatures vs beings vs beasts
Revise and do summer assignments
Clear mind (how? Snape didn’t mention how bloody hard it was)
Go over finances with Griphook
Practice Hindi (French next?)
Have Gerard reach out to any Indian Potters that may still be around
Reach out to Narcissa for resting place of Uncle Arcturus to pay respects, look into what came of his estate
He leaned to the window, trailing through the dust on the sill before tracing a rune on the glass. “Magic grant me the patience to not explode before help comes.”
He laid back and closed his eyes, letting sleep finally overtake him.
He woke to his door slamming open, sun streaming in the window while Vernon heaved from the doorframe. He sat up so quickly his head spun, and he had to dig a nail into his thigh to try and breath normally.
“Up, boy. Petunia needs help in the kitchen, she’s tired from that ruddy bird chirping all night.”
Harry just nodded.
“Now! And keep that thing quiet or it’ll have to go!”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” He waited until the footsteps receded down the stairs before he sprung up, flattening his hair as he headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Dudley was just leaving, and pushed him back into the wall.
“Move it, freak.”
Harry held his ribs, still sore from where Dudley had shoved him onto the stairs two days prior, missing Madame Pomfrey fiercely. His name being yelled from downstairs made him roll his eyes, but he quickly spit and appeared in the kitchen.
“Shall I take the bacon, Aunt Petunia?”
The woman looked down at him, small scowl as she nodded. “Don’t burn it. And when it’s done, start the cleaning up. I’m to have morning tea at Number Eleven and I expect things to be clean and away by the time I return.”
She turned just as Dudley thundered into the room. “Sweetums! Mrs. Polkins called already, she’ll be round to pick you up in an hour or so. You and Piers be good, do you need any spending money? Don’t leave without me giving you at least a tenner or two.”
Dudley barely paid her attention, nose in the air like a dog scenting a treat. “Is the bacon ready yet?”
“Just finished now, pumpkin,” she tittered.
Dudley sat at the table, chair creaking ominously as he tried to center his massive weight on it, already reaching for the steaming pile of bacon Harry placed on the table.
Breakfast was abnormally quiet apart from the horrid sounds of the male Dursleys inhaling their food. Harry scrubbed diligently, ignoring the empty churning of his stomach, thoughts flying at the implications of Petunia’s comments.
Vernon had work.
Dudley would be off with Piers.
Petunia would be down the street having tea.
That morning would be the perfect time to try and call someone, Hermione or Justin, someone who could figure out why he wasn’t receiving mail. Someone who would be able to get a hold of his lawyer, or the Weasleys, someone who could get him out.
He waited exactly two minutes after the door closed behind Petunia before he raced to the phone, punching numbers in from memory.
Too many rings at Hermione’s. He knew she was probably out with her nanny at some lesson or another. He waited a scarce second more, knocking his head into the wall next to the phone with a groan. He pressed the switch to end the call and immediately dialed Justin.
Two rings and a voice. Harry could have cried.
“Finch-Fletchley residence.”
Harry couldn’t tell if it was Justin or his brother. “Hi, is Justin there?”
“Yeah, hold on a mo’.” The voice called for Justin, saying there was some bloke on the phone.
Harry could have laughed at the thudding sounds from the other end, a sign that Justin was launching himself full force at the phone.
“Hadrian?”
“Hey, Justin.”
The sigh of relief was mirrored on both ends.
“Merlin’s blessings, we’re worried sick! Why haven’t you answered anyone’s owls? Are you okay? Who should I call?”
“I’m fine. Hedwig’s locked up, I haven’t been able to get her out yet. He won’t let me answer the phone, and I haven’t gotten any mail, I dunno why. Can’t get to my trunk for any supplies other than what I had in my bag when I was off the train. Call Hermione, get her to owl Gerard and Marcus.”
“Okay, of course. Hermione’s been going spare, she hasn’t been able to drive over without the nanny calling ahead, which of course won’t work. You’re sure you’re okay? It wouldn’t be hard for me to-”
Whatever Justin was going to say next was lost as the dial tone filled Harry’s ear, and he pulled back with a groan. He fiddled with the switch and jumped when the phone shocked him, a bit of smoke rising from the base unit.
“Well, shit.”
He left the phone, hoping whatever shorted it would fix itself by the time Petunia got home and needed to use it for gossip.
He made sure the kitchen was impeccably clean, and headed back to his room, immediately pulling out the ritual supplies he had managed to hide in the expandable bag he had managed to squirrel away under the floorboards under his bed.
“Okay, Hed. I think I can do this.”
He flipped open a book to a ritual detailing how to soften materials for shaping and pliability and got to work.
An hour later, just before Petunia had ducked back into the house, a flood of magick rushed through the house, soft and near imperceptible. But it left Harry with a handful of unnaturally warm, tacky dirt, a pinprick of blood on his thumb, and a wide grin. He turned to the cage, eyes set on the shiny lock.
“Let’s get you out of there.” He started spreading the dirt, which had turned into a near paste-like consistency, around the connection of the lock. “It’ll take a few hours to get to the point where I could really break it. So I figured that when the Dursleys go to bed, I’ll let you out and get you out to Gerard.”
She chirped, wings flapping just as the door downstairs opened.
Harry immediately froze, and then jumped into action, shoving everything back in his bag and in its hidden spot.
Just as he heard Petunia start cursing at the phone.
He held his breath.
“Boy!”
He slammed a fist down onto his mattress before standing and moving to open his door. He hadn’t even put his hand on the doorknob when the footsteps coming up the stairs made him stop dead, and he turned to sit on his bed, pulling out a muggle notebook and pencil, flipping to notes on the safest essay he could-Latin.
“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” he called, just as she opened his door.
He spared her a glance and gulped at the expression on her face. She leaned forward, pushing the notebook out of his lap.
“What did you do to the telephone?” she hissed, pulling his hair so he would look up at her face.
“I didn’t touch the phone, I swear.”
“Then why isn’t it working, when it was working perfectly fine when Mrs. Polkiss called me just this morning?”
“I don’t know-”
“Don’t lie to me!” She yanked on his hair, and he bit back a wince.
“Fine! I called someone to tell them to stop calling the house, so Uncle Vernon wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore! I don’t know why it’s broken, I swear!”
She let his hair go, and he took a deep breath, which was expelled in a near cry when she backhanded him, her wedding ring cutting a thin line under his eye.
When he looked back up at her, she was adjusting her ring. “I won’t tell Vernon about this until after dinner. Tonight could change his career, and I won’t have you spoiling the evening.”
Harry set his jaw to stop any noise from coming out. He had forgotten about Vernon’s stupid dinner party, some bigwig from his company and his wife coming round.
“Now, I have to clean the house before tonight. Go tend the front garden. Weed and water the flowerbeds, and water the hedges. If you get done before Vernon gets home, go round back and do the same.”
She left the door open behind her, and Harry finally shifted, moving to wipe the few drops of blood that had escaped from the cut. He traced it on his forearm, using his blood to trace a small sigil on his skin for hope.
He had a feeling he’d need plenty of it.
The afternoon was hot, and Harry’s too-large shirt was soaked through with sweat as he weeded the front garden, kneeling in soil to get it out at the root. He tried working through the few introductory Occlumency exercises that Marcus had found for him, but the heat made it near impossible.
He had a quick conversation with a decent sized snake that peeked from the shadow, and Harry pointed him towards the back garden. The Dursley’s would kill him if they found him, but on the other side of the fence was a large field that the neighborhood hated, if only for the mice in it. The Parseltongue was a welcome break, nostalgia racing through him for Ozzie and the Nook.
Watching the snake slither away, Harry could have sworn he saw the glint of green eyes from the bushes along the side of the house, but he shook it off to keep working.
He moved to the back garden, hands red and sore, just as Vernon pulled up in the car.
Harry quickly dumped the weeds into the rubbish bin near the shed, used the watering hose to rinse off, and stepped inside the dining room through the sunroom.
He watched Petunia flitter about the kitchen for a moment, Vernon having pressed a kiss to her cheek and left to freshen up before he needed to greet the Masons.
“Can I help?” he asked, ignoring the twinge of pain in his eye.
She looked towards him with a glare, but her eyes softened when he looked down sheepishly.
“Come and stir the potatoes. I need to finish the pudding. Don’t ruin anything.”
He diligently stood at the stove, relishing the feeling of the aircon in the room even as the heat of the boiling water rose to meet him.
He lost himself in the familiar actions of cooking until he felt a hand whack the back of his head.
He turned to see Petunia, now in some salmon-colored dress, pointing at the ends of the loaf of bread and a lump of cheese, with the smallest portion of fatty meat from the turkey Vernon was slicing.
“Hurry and eat, they’ll be here soon.”
Harry nodded and turned to scarf down the food, not letting the scent of the potatoes and roast turn his still-empty stomach before heading towards the stairs.
He had to bite back a grin at the sight of Vernon and Dudley stuffed into too-small suits, bowties barely visible under their chins.
Fingers digging into his arm made him pause.
“Remember, boy. Not one sound. If you ruin this for me, you’ll think this past week was a vacation.”
Harry just nodded, slipped from Vernon’s grasp, and silently crept up the stairs and into his room just as the doorbell rang. He sighed as he heard Vernon greeting the Masons, and turned to collapse in his bed, preferably with an issue of Creature Collection that he had picked up from Hagrid before the end of term last year.
Unfortunately, there was already something there.
Harry bit back a shout as he closed the door quietly behind him, just as the front door closed downstairs.
A house-elf was sitting on his unmade bed, staring at him with giant green eyes.
“You’re a bit far from home, aren’t you?” Harry asked quietly, moving closer to the elf.
“Harry Potter!” the elf screeched. “Such an honor.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. Keep it down, will you? Who are you? Who do you serve?”
He sat down on the nearly broken desk chair by the desk, mindful of the missing wheels.
The house-elf shifted nervously. “Dobby, sir. Dobby cannot say what family he serves, sir. Dobby is not meant to be here, Dobby will have to punish himself for coming.”
“Okay. First, don’t punish yourself. Why are you here if your master didn’t tell you to be?”
Dobby leaned forward. “Dobby wonders where to begin…” He trailed off as Petunia laughed from the living room.
“The beginning, usually. And quickly, would you please?”
The elf’s eyes grew wide. “Sir has said please to Dobby! Like an equal!”
Harry groaned as Dobby got louder. “Keep quiet, Dobby. I respect house-elves for the work they do, but if you get me in trouble, I will get you in trouble.
“Dobby is used to threats, sir. Dobby gets threats…” His eyes widened again, and without warning he turned and slammed his head against the wall.
Harry sprang up and snagged the back of his uniform, which was a thin pillowcase rather than an actual fabric like the Hogwarts house-elves. “Do not punish yourself. You did not speak ill of your family. Now, either tell me why you’re here, or tell me how I can help you.”
In his hold, Dobby blinked up at him with a watery adoration. “Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby? Such greatness, such goodness, sir…”
“Such bullshite, sure. None of that is true, nor is it the subject. Now, can we continue the conversation?”
“So humble and kind…” Dobby kept going.
“Dobby, why are you here.” He dropped the elf back on the bed.
He squirmed as he balanced on the mattress, staring back up at Harry with fear in his eyes. “Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, slayer of the Dark Lord, to warn him…. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.”
Silence fell on the room. Not even Hedwig shifted. Subtle sounds from the dining room floated up the stairs, knives and forks on porcelain, as sharp as the adrenaline rushing through Harry’s veins.
There was no way he wasn’t returning to school.
He was too angry to see the logic of playing this in a Slytherin way. He felt the twinge of the cut under his eye, the ache of his ribs, the echo of Petunia’s threat to tell Vernon about the phone. Harry just wanted his friends, the comfort of knowing his place in the world, and the only way to get that was to go back to school. No one, not even a house-elf, would stop that from happening.
His voice dropped to a whisper, almost as deadly as Snape’s lectures to those who don’t take his craft seriously. “And why does some random house-elf think I should stay in a world I don’t belong? Who are you to dictate what I can and cannot do?”
Dobby began to shake. “Harry Potter must be kept safe. If he returns to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger.”
Harry lifted up his shirt, showing the myriad of bruises that have appeared since he was back, bright yellow and purple against his dark skin, highlighting the subtle appearance of his ribs from just a week of not eating properly. “And you think I’m safe here?”
“Safer here than Hogwarts, sir.”
“Why?”
“There’s a plot, Harry Potter. To make horrible things happen at Hogwarts School. Dobby has known for months… And Harry Potter is too important to lose, sir!”
“Me not going back is the same as losing me. I have a life in that world, family, friends, all of whom think I’m too important to stay here.”
Dobby shifted on the bed, before puffing out his chest in a strange bravado. “Friends who do not even write Harry Potter?”
Instantly, the puzzle pieces began to click.
Missing letters, even when Justin said they’d been trying.
Green eyes staring at him from the bushes.
The phone shorting while he was planning an escape.
A deep breath as he clenched his fists, fingernails digging into his palms.
“Dobby?”
The elf blinked a few times at his seemingly polite tone. “Yes, sir?”
Harry took a step forward with a soft smile. “Give me my letters now.”
Dobby shivered at the expression on his face but pulled a bundle from the air. “Dobby thought if Harry Potter did not think his friends wanted him, that he would remain safe, remain here.”
With reflexes honed from a year of training under Marcus and Terry, Harry snatched the bundle and shoved a finger in the face of the elf. “I have more faith in my friends than that. And I will not stay here.”
He could tell Dobby was still wary. But there was a glint in his eyes, just a few shades off from his own, that he knew meant trouble.
And in this house, trouble was the last thing he needed.
“Dobby, no. I don’t know what you’re thinking-”
“Dobby must, sir. Harry Potter must not go back.” The elf stood as tall as he could on the bed. “If Dobby cannot stop him, maybe his family can.”
“No no no no no, Dobby, no. You don’t understand, in their eyes, I’m like a house elf, and if you do whatever you’re planning, it’ll be worse than you can even imagine.”
The elf slowly raised a hand. “Dobby understands, Harry Potter. But Dobby must. Dobby is sorry.”
A snap, and Dobby was gone.
Harry raced down the stairs as quietly and quickly as he could, just in time to see the house elf levitating Petunia’s prized pudding over the kitchen island, the Dursleys and their guests just out of sight in the dining room.
“Dobby, no, no no no no.”
Dobby turned back to him. “Sir must say he won’t go back to school.”
“You’ll be signing my death warrant, please-”
“Sir must not go back to Hogwarts.”
“I will not stay here,” he hissed.
“Then Dobby has no choice.”
Harry didn’t even stay to watch what came next. Instead, he climbed back up the stairs, two at a time, and threw open his window just as a loud crash sounded from downstairs.
“Hedwig, I need you to get to Gerard. I don’t care if he’s asleep, wake him or Marcus up.”
He dove for a scrap piece of paper and a pencil, scribbling quickly, hearing the front door close.
House elf trying to keep me from school.
Kept letters away from me.
He took a deep breath, hearing a screech from Petunia.
Problem with the Dursleys.
He hesitated but wrote one final sentence as loud stomps started up the stairs.
I’m scared.
-Hadrian
“BOY!” Vernon’s voice shattered any sense of sense Harry had.
He had just enough time to tear open Hedwig’s cage, softened lock falling to the ground, before the bedroom door slammed open, drywall dusting into the air as the knob dented the wall behind it.
Hedwig screeched, grabbed the letter from Harry’s hand, talon just scraping his skin enough to break, and flew through the open window.
Harry watched her disappear into the night before he felt the heavy hand of his uncle on his shoulder, spinning him around.
“Where is it going,” he spat, and Harry closed his eyes as he felt spittle land on his face.
“Somewhere she isn’t treated like a monster,” he whispered, feeling the walls start to close in.
“And what happened downstairs?” Harry could feel Vernon tower over him, could feel the breath on the top of his head.
“It wasn’t me. There was something else here, something from my world.”
The hand on his shoulder dug into his muscle. “Now you’re bringing things into our house?”
“I didn’t mean to, it was trying to get me to not go back to school!”
Vernon chuckled, a cruel and low sound, and Harry heard the rustle of paper. “One of those bloody birds was downstairs. You forgot to mention that you couldn’t do magic outside of school.”
Harry opened his eyes to see Vernon shoving a letter in front of him, threatening expulsion for any further magic.
“And Petunia told me about your little phone call to one of your friends today. You thought you’d get away with that?”
He gulped as Vernon’s toothy sneer glared down at him.
“That thing won’t have to worry. You won’t be going back to that school. Good luck trying to get out of this house now. And if you try to magic yourself out, there won’t be anywhere for you to go.”
He backhanded Harry, causing him to fall back on his bed, and left the room, pulling the door closed and locking each lock before disappearing back down the stairs.
Harry blinked slowly as the pain dulled into a familiar ache.
He looked at Hedwig’s empty cage, realizing that he was now completely alone in what he had started to think of as Durzkaban.
For the first time since his rant in Dumbledore’s office, left with the realization that at age eleven, he had effectively killed someone, Harry Potter started to cry.
The next morning, Harry woke to drilling from both the window next to him and the door on the opposite side of the room.
Vernon had apparently called someone for same-day installation of bars on Harry’s window, something about the teenage hoodlum they were trying to keep on the straight and narrow.
There were now more locks on his door, and Vernon was cutting out part of the door to add a cat-flap to pass small amounts of food into the room.
Petunia pursed her lips as she entered the room to scan it for anything untoward. “We’ll let you out for the bathroom twice a day. You can’t be trusted to even help in the kitchen after you ruined my pudding.” She shook her head. “You’ve really done it this time, boy.”
He couldn’t even muster the energy to protest as she locked his door behind her.
He stared blankly at his summer to-do list, and dug his fingers into his arm, trying to shock himself into making his brain think again.
He sat up, bit his lip so hard he started to bleed, and nodded to himself.
If he was going to be trapped, he was going to do the most he could. Because he was going to get out. Even if it wasn’t in time for term. He refused to stay and sit idle. He pulled out a notebook from underneath his mattress, pulled a pen from the desk, and started writing.
Harry woke up three days later, surrounded by pages of notes, staring once more at the empty cage, worried that something had happened to his first true friend.
Or maybe… maybe the Dursleys were right, maybe no one really cared about him, and he would be trapped in Durzkaban for the rest of his life.
He shoved his self-pity to the side, ducking under his bed to dig into his bag for his book on Hindi.
Something to practice, at least, though he was sure his pronunciation was absolutely foul. Padma would laugh at his face outright.
He had just flipped to the introduction when the doorbell downstairs went off, and not even a second later someone started pounding on the door itself.
He sat up, brows furrowed as Petunia shouted that she’d be there in a second.
Something flickered in the back of his mind, a familiarity that he just couldn’t shake, a sense of hope tickling up his spine.
He was already halfway to the first smile he’d had since he heard Justin’s voice when Petunia must have gotten to the door, and Gerard’s rough tone echoed up the stairs.
“I’m here to collect Hadrian Potter.”